


i would like to decorate this silence

by the_everqueen



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Conservatory, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eliza is a Pintrest Queen, Hamilton Gift Exchange, Magic, Multi, Polyamory, holiday contemplations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 13:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_everqueen/pseuds/the_everqueen
Summary: in which Alexander's paramours explain holiday decorations





	i would like to decorate this silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexanger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/gifts).



> things you might need to know for this one:
> 
> Alexander Hamilton is a pianist. also a shapeshifting faerie.
> 
> he, Eliza, and John have been in a polyamorous V relationship since their undergrad years at a competitive music conservatory (think Julliard).
> 
> title comes from Linda Gregg's "winter love"

“I don’t get it.”

“They’re faerie lights, you’re a faerie…” Eliza shrugs. “I thought it was funny.” She twists the last strand of lights around the curtain rod and steps back to survey her work. The soft white glow gives the living room a cozy vibe; with her handmade snowflake decorations, the lights cast holiday-themed shadows over the walls. 

Alexander wrinkles his nose.

“What?”

“Why are they called faerie lights?”

She sighs. “I don’t know.”

“They aren’t —” He creeps forward, sniffing the air. “They’re not magical?”

“Don’t try to act like you’ve never seen Christmas lights.”

“Just because I haven’t untangled all your weird human traditions…”

“No, you went to that department holiday party last year, you can’t pretend this is all new.”

Alexander pouts. “I was giving out student awards!”

“You mean ensuring the allegiance of your favorites.” John walks into the room with one of Eliza’s gingerbread cookies and takes a large bite. Alexander visibly perks, sidling over to him. He rubs his face against John’s shoulder with a coy purr. John narrows his eyes at him. “There’s at least two dozen in the kitchen.”

“Which were supposed to be for  _ after _ dinner,” Eliza says, glaring. “You’re worse than children.”

John opens his mouth to retort and Alexander seizes the opportunity to snatch the remaining half of his cookie. Too-fast blur and he’s wriggling out of his sweater and under the couch with his stolen treat. John grabs at him with an aborted curse. A black nose pokes out and then retreats in a flash of reddish fur.

Eliza goes to check on the stew she left simmering on the back burner. Nothing complicated, just ginger chicken over rice. The looming holidays are getting to her: the studio recital is in one week and the kids are feeling nervous with anticipation. Plus Alexander has finals — Piano Lit exam and juries. He’s assistant faculty, his second year doing lectures, but Washington gave him a couple freshman this semester and Eliza knows Alex is on edge for this test of his potential as a private instructor. Twice this week she’s gone into another room for a folder or a hand towel and found herself in a spring meadow or on a desolate beach instead. 

Something the stories don’t tell you: faeries get anxious just like humans do, and nerves plus magic means sometimes coming home to Elsewhere.

At least John is here. Last year around this time he was working on the album, doing promotion concerts back East, and Eliza had to handle Alexander’s finals jitters alone. It’s an adjustment, all three of them in the apartment at the same time — Alexander was at conferences most of the summer, and John had a ten-week tour in the fall. But once this week is done, they can spend the holidays together. She has a whole plan written out on the calendar: sugar cookie baking, sending out cards, visiting her family upstate on Christmas Eve. 

She gives the rice a quick fluff and turns off the burner. “Dinner’s ready,” she calls.

John enters holding Alexander, in fox form, curled against his chest. Alex twists around to get a look at what she’s doing, his ears perked. 

“You can have one more cookie after dinner,” Eliza says. “They were supposed to be for George and Martha, and the Adamses.”

Alexander makes an irritable  _ eckeckeck _ sound. 

“It’s just polite!”

“Like an exchange,” John says. “They gave you the job, you express gratitude in the form of… holiday cheer and icing.”

Alexander shakes out his fur and hisses. It’s for show, Eliza knows — whatever he and George have is complicated, but he and Martha get along fine, and besides, he likes ritual, the easy script human manners provide. Dean Adams hires him, he gives her cookies once a year, she won’t burn him with iron in the night or make him work with her husband on the Kings Concerto Competition next year or whatever he fears most from her. The kind of deal a faerie likes: unequal, yet leaving no debts.

John deposits Alexander in a chair and starts setting the table. “Maybe avoid the threat displays when you see her. I’ve heard you can be charming when you want.”

Alex geckles at him, which Eliza interprets as  _ I caught both of you, didn’t I? _

She swats him with a dish towel. 

Later that night, Eliza wakes to a sense of absence. She rolls over — John is snoring on the other side of the bed, but Alexander is gone, a cool spot left in the sheets between her and John. She swings her legs over, searching for her slippers, before padding out into the living room. 

Alexander is there, naked and sitting on the sofa with his knees to his chest, staring at the twinkling lights. 

“I don’t get it,” he says, as though she was present for whatever tangle of thoughts led him out here at whatever odd hour. He does that, sometimes, gets lost in his head and expects her to find him. 

She sits next to him. “It’s not complicated. They’re lots of little light bulbs —”

He curls his lip. “I didn’t just crawl out from under the hill.”

She pulls him down so he’s resting his head in her lap. He makes a surprised noise, which gives way to a rumbling purr as she combs her fingers through his hair. 

“It’s just different,” he says finally. “We didn’t — well. There was the solstice, I suppose. And then the Stevenses had Hanukkah. But once I started at Kings, I was too busy to pay much attention apart from the change of seasons. Stuff like this didn’t matter.”

“We’ve visited my family around Christmas.” At least twice. 

“Yeah, but that’s —” he wriggles around so he’s facing her “— that’s seeing your parents and sisters and eating dinner and drinking that weird spiked shit your dad likes.”

“Yeah. We get together and make fun of Angelica’s boyfriend.”

“So that’s it?”

“What?”

“That’s why the lights and the paper things? It’s something your family does?”

“They’re snowflakes, not —” Eliza sighs. “I just thought they’d be nice. Some seasonal decoration. Since  _ someone _ would probably try to eat a Christmas tree.”

He squirms but doesn’t deny it. 

“People have their traditions, but for us it’s always been a chance to be with the people we love, show them we care. And there’s Mass — I don’t think you can get out of it, next year, you’ll at least have to come and watch. But I like it, the candles and the choirs and the whole — there’s a ritual to it. John might feel differently.” She shrugs. “It’s something that’s the same, every year. Comforting, you know?”

Alexander hums.

John stumbles out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed, his head a mess of curls. “If you guys wanted privacy, I could’ve moved to the couch.” 

“I’m just explaining my home decor to our boyfriend.”

“Ugh.” John flops down on the couch. “It’s holiday shit. Winter. Traditions.” He waves his hand. “There you go.”

Alex pats his leg. “Nice job, babe.”

John gives him a suspicious look. “You seriously didn’t know about the lights?”

“I’ve seen them before.” Alexander rolls his eyes. “Just not — I didn’t know you guys were into them.”

“Hmm, not like that, maybe.” John leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. “S’ nice, though. Pretty.”

“You’re prettier,” Alex says. “Both of you.”

“How lucky we are,” Eliza says, but she means it: lucky to have each other, to be here, all of them together and alive right now.  

 


End file.
